


The Long and the Short of It

by terrys_chocklit_orange



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9630128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrys_chocklit_orange/pseuds/terrys_chocklit_orange





	

Otabek loved Yuri's hair. 

If he was honest, he loved everything about Yuri, and had since the day they met for the second time, in Barcelona. It wasn't the pure, worshipful love of an admirer to an idol, or even the respectful, brotherly love of fellow competitors. Otabek knew that very well. But if Yuri had a soldier's eyes, then Otabek had a soldier's honourable spirit, and he swore he would carry his burden in silence, forever. 

Then came Pyeongchang. With an Olympic gold medal around his neck, Yuri looked better than ever. He was taller than Otabek now by a couple of centimetres, and his shoulders were much broader. When he backed Otabek into a corner of the athletes' village room Yuri was ostensibly sharing with Victor—who had in fact rented an apartment with Yuuri Katsuki, with whom he'd also tied for silver, a story over which the media was losing their collective mind—Otabek couldn't physically resist. Emotionally, he had no desire to.

“Fuck, Otabek,” Yuri sighed, breathless, when he pulled away from the kiss. Otabek's lips were tingling, and one hand was tangled in Yuri's blond braid, which still sparkled with glitter from his indescribably amazing free skate performance. “It's about fucking time.” He grabbed Otabek by the front of his shirt and pulled him back in, harsh and desperate and panting for more. 

After that, Otabek was done for. _I was done for the first time I saw him_ , he reminded himself, but now it was different. Then, Otabek's longing for Yuri had been of an abstract nature. Now that he'd had him, Otabek knew exactly what he was missing when they were apart. And God, did he miss it. He and Yuri Skyped for hours every night, hours both of them should have been spending asleep. All day long, Yuri texted him and Snapchatted him and tagged him in Instagram pictures he posted of sleeping cats, pigeons eating french fries, Victor and Katsuki kissing at the rink. These last were always accompanied by a green-faced emoticon or “yuck”, but Otabek sympathised. If he and Yuri had been in the same place, he wouldn't have been able to keep his hands to himself either. 

As it was, Otabek could barely keep his hands to himself while they were apart. Otabek's guilt over masturbating furiously and frequently to pictures of his—best friend? Boyfriend? Otabek didn't exactly know—eased a little when Yuri sent him a picture of his erect dick, his hand wrapped around the base. Well, first Otabek, who had been brushing his teeth when he casually opened the message, dropped the phone into the toilet, but once a bowl of rice had dried it out and the tech-minded girl who lived downstairs had revived it, Otabek's guilt was eased. He and Yuri started sending each other pictures of that nature on a regular basis, always making sure to delete them promptly, just in case. That soon morphed into exchanging sexually explicit text messages, which became clothing-optional Skype sessions. 

Throughout it all, Yuri's beautiful hair remained a constant. His body grew and developed, seemingly right before Otabek's eyes, but his long hair didn't change much. To discourage comparisons with a young Victor, Yuri kept his shoulder-length. Sometimes, like when he was training, he put it up in a ponytail or a bun. When he performed, it was often in an intricate braid pulled so tightly, Yuri told Otabek it gave him headaches. “But beauty is pain, as Lillia says,” Yuri laughed, like he thought it was stupid, but Otabek knew him well enough to know he believed it. Which was silly, because Yuri was always beautiful. 

Of all Yuri's hairstyles, Otabek's secret favourite was when it hung loose, spilling down when Yuri leaned over Otabek to kiss him as they lay in bed, or bouncing against his smooth pale skin when Yuri rode Otabek's cock. He even loved waking up entangled by it, the gold strands over Otabek's face and in his mouth and trapping him like a cage from which Otabek never wanted to escape. 

***

By the time the 2020 World Championships rolled around, Otabek and Yuri hadn't seen one another in person for close to five months. An injury earlier in the season meant that Otabek hadn't been able to qualify for the GPF. Now that Victor had officially retired for good and gone to raise poodles and babies with Katsuki in Japan, Yuri was under more pressure than ever to be Russia's golden boy of figure skating. He didn't have time for the off-season visits and quick weekends away they'd sometimes managed to arrange before.

Yuri's absence was painful for Otabek, very much so, but this situation wasn't going to last for long. Otabek wasn't going to let it. His injury, coupled with a disappointing performance at last year's World's at Saitama, had given him a lot to think about. He was twenty-two now. Young enough to go another couple of seasons, maybe, but was it worth the price? 

Stepping into the airport, Otabek immediately spotted Mila Babicheva's bright red hair. The same age as Otabek, she was still going strong, winning gold medal after gold medal with apparent ease. Yuri was jealous of her, Otabek knew, but he also admired her more than even Otabek would ever persuade him to admit. 

“Otabek!” Mila cried, waving and jumping. Otabek waved back and scanned the crowd. Usually, between the long blond hair and the animal prints, Yuri was easy to see, but this time, it took a moment before Otabek's eye landed on him. 

Yuri was wearing a hat. A plain black baseball cap. There wasn't even a sponsor's logo or anything that might explain it. Otabek wasn't in the mood to care. He ran over and picked Yuri up, glad this year's competition was in a country where he could do that kind of thing. “Beka!” Yuri laughed delightedly, which did nothing but spur Otabek on. He put him down, kissing him quickly, chastely but still far more publicly than he usually did. Mila hooted beside them. Yuri's cheeks turned pink, but at the same time, his smile evaporated.

“Yuri?” Otabek's heart sank. “What's wrong?” 

“I...” He began, then stopped. 

“Oh, Lord.” Mila reached over and knocked the hat off Yuri's head. 

His hair was short. Not shaved, not even as short as Otabek's, but shorter than Otabek had ever seen on him. Otabek blinked out of sheer surprise, and Yuri slammed the hat back on his head. “I knew it was terrible.”

“No! No, not at all. It looks great.” It was true. It was a good haircut. It suited Yuri's face and it made him look older. The little part of Otabek that was still riddled with guilt over their minor age difference appreciated that.

“See?” Mila elbowed Yuri. “I told you he wouldn't care. I think he looks butch, don't you, Otabek?” 

“You look great,” Otabek repeated. Yuri looked, in fact, a little like Victor had when Otabek first met him, although since Otabek knew exactly how that information would be received, he kept his mouth shut. 

“Oh!” Mila shouted, suddenly. “There she is.” She unrolled the poster she'd had at her feet and held it up. It featured a few Italian words, the name “Sara” and a large number of marker-drawn red hearts. 

“Come on.” Yuri put his arm through Otabek's. As always, Otabek kept a wary eye out for Yuri's Angels, but they made it out of the airport safely. Otabek put his bag in the back of a waiting cab and climbed in beside Yuri. 

“I told Lillia I was fed up with looking like a girl,” Yuri said, staring out the window. 

“You didn't look like a girl.” 

“I know. It just...It was one of those things. You had to be there.” 

“And now I am.” 

“Yes. You are.” He reached out, his fingers intertwining with Otabek's on the seat between them. 

It was a small gesture, but it spurred Otabek to say, “What if I always was? There, I mean.” It didn't sound the way Otabek wanted to. “With you,” he added, although that didn't really help.

“Are you asking...”

“No,” Otabek broke in, because he wasn't. Not here, in the back of a cab of all places. He couldn't look at Yuri, so he flicked his eyes away, gazing out the windshield. “But if I did, someday. Soon. Would...would you want that?” 

“Otabek. Look at me.” Otabek did. Yuri was grinning, the big smile that lit up his face and that only Otabek ever seemed to see. “I've wanted that since I was fifteen fucking years old.” 

“Oh.” Otabek felt like he'd been slapped, in the best of ways. “Oh,” he repeated, because all other words, in Russian or any other language, seemed to have fled from his mind. 

Fortunately, Yuri was extremely adept at other forms of communication. He leaped forward, throwing his arms around Otabek and kissing him over and over again, in view of God and the cab driver who was apparently deliberately not looking in his rearview mirror. The kisses were so exuberant, they knocked Yuri's hat onto the floor. When Otabek bent to pick it up, Yuri waved a hand. “Leave it. I hate that fucking hat.” Otabek couldn't argue. “Although...” Yuri frowned, pensive. “Do you think I could pull off a Mohawk?”

Otabek blinked. “I...ah...if you...I mean, that is to say, if you wanted...”

“You're too easy.” Yuri laughed. He rested his head on Otabek's shoulder, and Otabek couldn't resist. He moved, just a little burying his nose in Yuri's new short hair. It smelled as delicious as ever. 

Otabek didn't love Yuri's hair. He didn't love his personality, or his talent, or any one thing he could name. Otabek loved _Yuri_ , and it was the greatest mystery, as well as the greatest gift, of Otabek's life that Yuri seemed, somehow, to love him back. It wasn't a gift Otabek took lightly, and it wasn't one he was ever going to take for granted. “I love you,” he muttered, quietly. For Yuri's ears only, even though he doubted the cab driver could speak Russian. They might have been cuddling in the back of a cab, but that didn't mean Otabek had become a complete exhibitionist.

Yuri sighed and moved closer yet. “Thanks, Beka,” he whispered back. Otabek kissed him again, a gentle peck on the head. _You're welcome_ didn't seem adequate, so he said, “It's my pleasure, Yura.” It always, always had been.


End file.
